Obrazy na stronie

Circled with evil, till his very soul

Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd

By sights of evermore deformity!

With olher ministrations thou, O Nature!

Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child:

Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,

Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets;

Thy melodies of woods and winds, and waters!

Till he relent, and can no more endure

To be a jarring and a dissonant thing

Amid this general dance and minstrelsy,

But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,

His angry spirit heal'd and harmonised

By the benignant touch of love and beauty.

By M. C. Bryant.

The day had been a day of wind and storm ;—

The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,— And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm

Shone the grent sun on the wide earth at last.

I stood upon the upland slope, and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,

Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their beads of green,
With pleasant vales scoop'd out, and villages between.

The rain-drops glisten'd on the trees around,

Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirr'd,

Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird,
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard

About the flowers; the cheerful rivulets sung
And gossip'd as he hasten'd ocean-ward;

To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung,
And, chirping, from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry
Flew many a glittering insect here and there,

And darted up and down the butterfly,
That seem'd a living blossom of the air.

The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where The violent rain had pent them; in the way

Stroll'd groups of damsels frolicksome and fair.
The farmer swung the scythe or turn'd the hay,
And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play.

It was a scene of peace—and, like a spell,

Did that serene and golden sunlight fall
Upon the motionless wood that clothed the feD,

And precipice upspringing like a wall,

And glassy river and white waterfall,
And happy living things that trod the bright

And beauteous scene: while far beyond them all,
On many a lovely valley out of sight,
Was pour'd from the blue heavens the same sofi golden

I look'd, and thought the quiet of the scene

An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, When o'er earth's continents and isles between,

The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,

And mnrried nations dwell in harmony; When millions, crouching in the dust to one,

No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, Nor the black stake be dress'd, nor in the sun The o'er-labour'd captive toil, and wish his life were done.

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers

And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast,

The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers
And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last
The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.

Lo, the clouds roll away—they break they fly,
And like the glorious light of summer, cast

O'er the wide landscape, from the embracing sky.
On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie.

By Gerald Massey.

I Love! and Love hath given me

Sweet thoughts to God akin,
And oped a living Paradise

My heart of hearts within:

0 from this Eden of my life
God keep the Serpent Sin!

1 love! and into Angel-land

With starry glimpses peer!
I drink in beauty like heaven-wine,

When One is smiling near!
And there's a Rainbow round my soul

For every falling tear.

Dear God in heaven! keep without stain

My bosom's brooding Dove:
O clothe it meet for angel-arms,

And give it place above!
For there is nothing from the world

I yearn to take, but Love.

THE MOTHER'S FIRST GRIEF. Extracted from Knickerbocker, an American Magazine.

She sits beside the cradle,

And her tears are streaming fast,
For she sees the present only,

While she thinks of all the past:
Of the days so full of gladness,

When her first-born's answering kiss
Thrill'd her soul with such a rapture

That it knew no other bliss.
O, those happy, happy moments!

They but deepen her despair,
For she bends above the cradle,

And her baby is not there!

There are words of comfort spoken,

And the leaden clouds of grief
Wear the smiling bow of promise,

And she feels a sad relief:
But her wavering thoughts will wander,

Till they settle on the scene
Of the dark and silent chamber,

Anil of all that might have been!
For a little vacant garment,

Or a shining tress of hair,
Tells her heart in tones of anguish,

That her baby is not there!

She sits beside the cradle,

But her tears no longer flow,
For she sees a blessed vision,

And forgets all earthly woe;
Saintly eyes look down upon her,

And the Voice that hush'd the sea
Stills her spirit with the whisper,

"Suffer them to come to Me."
And while her soul is lifted

On the soaring wings of prayer,
Heaven's crystal g;ites swing inward,

And she sees her baby there!

By Sir John Bowking.

O Thou eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide,
Unchanged through time's all devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Mighty One!
Whom none can comprehend and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone:
Embracing all—supporting—ruling o'er—
Being whom we call God—and know no more.
In its sublime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean deep—may count
The sands or the sun's rays—but God! for Thee

There is no weight nor measure; none can mount

Up to Thy mysteries; reason's brightest spark,

Though kmdled by Thy light, in vain would try

To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark:

And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,

Even like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call

First chaos, then existence; Lord! on Thee

Eternity had its foundation ;—all

Sprung forth from Thee :—of light, joy, harmony,

Sole origin ;—all life, all beauty Thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create;

Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine;

Thou art, and wast, and shalt be! Glorious! Great!

Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround:

Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!

Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,

And beautifully mingled life and death!

As sparks mount upwards-from the fiery blaze,

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee;

And as the spangles in the sunny rays

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry

Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.

A million torches lighted by thy hand

"Wander unwearied through the blue abyss;

They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command,

All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.

What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light—

A glorious company of golden streams—

Lamps of celestial ether burning bright—

Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?

But Thou to these art as the noon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in Thee is lost—

What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?

And what am I then? Heaven's unnumber'd host,

Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd

In all the glory of sublimest thought,

Is but an atom in the balance weigh'd

Against Thy greatness, is a cipher brought

Against infinity! What ami then? Nought!

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